Du froid
by PenguinPickle
Summary: Slight season 3 spoilers! Aramis is worried he may have lost his friendship with Porthos. Something happens that proves him wrong.
1. Chapter 1

Aramis shook his head to remove the snow that had gathered in his hat. He sighed and shifted closer to the fire. How he hated winter, and all the snow that came with it. Their camp was not too deep in the forest but still he felt the hair stand up on his neck at every flutter of birds' wings and every snap of a branch. The snow falling and gathering all around him did nothing but add to his unease. No matter how much he tried, he could not stop himself from staring at every shadow and straining his ears at every sound. He gripped his left wrist with his right hand and squeezed as tightly as he could, until it was painful; it seemed the only way to stop his mind from wandering too far from the present.

He looked up to watch his brothers. Porthos and d'Artagnan were playing cards. d'Artagnan was losing badly and Porthos was howling with laughter. The two were closer since Aramis saw them last and he suddenly felt a small pang of jealousy flare up inside him. Aramis was very fond of d'Artagnan and felt not even the smallest amount of anger towards him. The problem was, he missed Porthos. The way Porthos and d'Artagnan were now, felt like he was watching himself and Porthos four years ago. Aramis looked away from them.

 _We learnt to live without you._ The words had stung. Badly. Porthos had never uttered anything so hurtful to Aramis before. He knew Porthos was angry with him at the time, and while that anger had abated since they spoke that day, he felt like Porthos was still holding back. Aramis looked down to his boots and felt a small, warm tear run down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away with his shoulder and looked up again to see if anyone had noticed. Relieved to find that they hadn't, he started to unnecessarily poke at the fire with a twig.

Aramis sighed quietly to himself. He missed the way they were, the way they used to be and a small voice told him they would never be that way again. He listened constantly as his brothers spoke and referenced events that they had experienced in their four years without him, and it hurt him. He would never blame them but that fact did not ease his thoughts at all. In fact it only made him hate himself even more. If they had learnt to live without him then what was his purpose anymore? Surely it meant he had nothing more to offer them.

He looked up and watched d'Artagnan and Porthos again. The way they laughed and smiled at one another when one referenced an inside joke that Aramis knew nothing about. Aramis swallowed and glanced over to Athos who was sitting to the right of the others. He startled when he realised Athos was watching him intently. Before he could look away Athos was on his feet and coming to sit beside him.

"Are you alright?" Athos asked softly, to prevent the others from hearing.

"I'm fine." Aramis replied and was not surprised when he was met with a stony expression from his brother.

"So was that a stray drop of rain that I saw on your face just now?"

Aramis sighed, there was never hiding anything from Athos, "No."

Athos stood up and said loudly, "I believe we are in need of new firewood. Aramis, would you care to accompany me?"

Aramis groaned internally, aware of his brother's strategy.

"Very well." He replied curtly and stood up to follow Athos into the woods.

They walked in silence, side by side until Athos eventually stopped walking to pick up a few twigs.

"Something has greatly upset you," Athos stated matter-of-factly, "I will know what it is now."

Aramis crossed his arms in defiance, "There is no need to use your Captain voice on me."

Athos raised an eyebrow and straightened to look at Aramis in the eye, "I do not have a captain voice."

"Yes you do," Aramis teased, "I am not upset, the smoke from the fire merely made my eyes water."

Athos rolled his eyes, "Don't try that nonsense on me, Aramis. Even after four years I can tell when your mind is trying to think of too many things at once, I could hear you thinking from across the fire. Now tell me, what is wrong?"

Aramis sighed and kept on walking, gathering more pieces of dry wood as he went along.

"He hates me," Aramis said eventually.

"Who hates you?" Athos asked, the confusion evident on his voice.

"Porthos," Aramis replied.

Suddenly a pair of hands were grabbing his shoulders and turning him around, causing him to drop the wood he was holding.

"Aramis," Athos said, the look on his face confused and hurt, "Porthos could never hate you. How could you think that?"

"He hates me for not fighting the war with you all; he said that you all had learnt to live without me. I understand, of course, but I just feel like I've lost him."

Athos sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"It's amazing," He said, "How four years can change so much yet also so little."

"I don't follow," Aramis replied.

"Aramis, my dear brother," Athos said, "What does Porthos do when he is angry or upset?"

Aramis thought for a bit, not sure where this was going, "He lashes out."

"Correct," Athos replied, "And in his anger, instead of striking you, he said something he knew would hurt. He was defending himself, Aramis."

"Defending himself against me?" Aramis asked, confused.

"Yes and no," Athos replied, "He was probably afraid, that if you two had fallen back into place so easily he would get hurt again."

"I don't understand." Aramis replied, his mind buzzing.

"Aramis," Athos said, "when we saw you it felt like we had just got you back. Porthos was afraid that for a second time you might not return with us. He was probably afraid of the pain that it would have caused if you stayed at the monastery. So he pushed you away even further."

Aramis bent down to pick up the wood he had dropped. He felt slightly relieved but still remained unsure of Athos' words. Why had Porthos still remained distant, even after he returned to the garrison with them?

"You have become wise in your old age, Athos."

"Oh shut up," Athos replied, "It's only been four years."

They walked in silence as they gathered more wood. Before they headed back to the camp, Athos placed a hand on Aramis' shoulder.

"You know, Aramis," Athos said, "While we were at war I often sent a scout to the monastery, to make sure there was nothing amiss there."

"You did?" Aramis asked, shocked.

"Of course," Athos replied with a smile, "And every time the scout came back, Porthos was the first to ask questions. He would half scare the man to death to find out every bit of information he could, to make sure you were safe where you were."

Aramis felt warmth spread through his chest and smiled softly.

"Thank you, Athos," He said.

"You have nothing to thank me for, Aramis."

…

Aramis stared up at the starry sky that night. His bedroll was not the most comfortable thing but that was not what was keeping him awake. Every small sound had him shooting up and staring into the darkness. They were in a safe part of Paris, so there was no need for anyone to keep watch. He couldn't help it though. His body was tuned into every moving shadow and his ears focused beyond the sound of his brothers' soft snoring.

He stared at the small puffs of white coming from his mouth; there was something hypnotic about them. His eyes eventually closed as he could not fight sleep any longer.

When he opened his eyes again it was still dark but the forest was very quiet. He turned his head to look for his brothers but they weren't there. There was no fire either, no evidence of their camp. The moon was the only light source. He was completely alone. He sat up and looked around him.

"Athos?" He called desperately, "Porthos?"

His heart was thumping loudly in his ears as he trudged through the snow. It felt like he was walking for ages and suddenly he tripped over something. When he stood up and looked back, his stomach dropped. Suddenly he was surrounded by bodies. There was blood in the snow and the smell of death in the air. He looked down to the body he had tripped over.

"Porthos?" He dropped to his knees.

Porthos' eyes were gazing at the sky like Aramis had done moments before but they held no life in them.

"Porthos, no." Aramis whispered, "Porthos… please get up. Please. Don't leave me alone here, please. Porthos!"

Aramis opened his eyes at the feeling of someone shaking him. Porthos was leaning over him, his skin glowing with life in the fire light. He looked to his side to see Athos and d'Artagnan still asleep. It was still dark but this time the night was filled with the sound of owls and crickets.

"Aramis?" Porthos asked, "You were calling out in your sleep."

Aramis sat up and raked his fingers through his hair.

"I apologise for waking you." He said, not looking Porthos in the eye.

"No need to apologise, is everything alright?"

Aramis looked at him then. No. Everything was not alright. He felt stupid. He was dreaming of past things when his brothers surely had nightmares of their own these days. He had no idea what they must have experienced during the war. Of course during Savoy they had no warning what so ever but war was just as gruesome, just as unforgiving. What right did he have to seek comfort from a brother who probably had his own haunting memories?

He blinked when he realised he was taking too long to reply.

"Everything's fine." He said.

Porthos looked at him and frowned, then his face turned cold and he stood up,

"Very well," He said and walked back to where his bedroll was beside d'Artagnan's.

Aramis' stomach dropped as he watched Porthos go back to sleep. He didn't understand, had he done something wrong? Had he insulted Porthos somehow? With a pang he wondered if he even knew his brother anymore. He stayed awake for the rest of the night and watched the sun rise. He was too afraid to sleep, he never wanted to see Porthos like that in his dreams again, couldn't bare the way his lifeless eyes looked.

…

Once everyone was awake, they packed their camp up in silence. Porthos was clearly avoiding Aramis' gaze and Aramis suddenly felt incredibly lonely. Without his relationship with Porthos being as it used to, he felt hollow, empty like there was something missing. It was painful.

They were riding on their horses about an hour later, on a trail back to Paris. The trees around them became sparser as the time went by but it was a small comfort. Aramis rode behind Porthos and d'Artagnan, and to the left of Athos. He listened as they spoke of things he had missed.

"I can hear it again," Athos said quietly from beside him.

"Hear what?" Aramis asked.

Startled, his gaze danced all around them, looking for the threat that Athos might have heard.

Athos stretched to his left and squeezed Aramis' arm.

"Easy brother," He said, "I was talking about your mind. You've barely uttered a single word since we woke up and I can hear you overthinking."

Aramis sighed, "Sorry."

Athos smiled but then his expression turned more thoughtful.

He tilted his head, "Did you sleep at all last night? You look exhausted."

"I'm fine." Aramis said automatically.

Athos raised a brow which told him he had seen right through his lie.

They continued their trek in silence, save for the conversation between Porthos and d'Artagnan that would spike up every now and then.

"Gentlemen," Athos said once afternoon had arrived, "We need to rest our horses and probably start another camp before nightfall. Aramis, your eyes are the sharpest, would you ride ahead to see if you can find a river? Even if it is frozen over we could always break some of the ice for water, winter has not yet reached its middle so the ice should still be thin. Otherwise we can melt some snow."

Aramis nodded, "I'm sure I can find something."

"Good," Athos said, "Don't venture too far, we'll make camp there under those trees."

Aramis looked where he was pointing and nodded, directing his horse further down the path past his brothers. He looked over his shoulder once he was a few meters away and saw that they were heading to the trees Athos had gestured to. He looked back ahead and turned his horse off the path. He was very tired and his eyes were beginning to droop. They had been through these woods before, and if memory served there was a large river near. Finding water would make everything easy, it would take them much longer to melt enough snow for themselves and their horses.

Aramis sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had to talk to Porthos, he missed him greatly. Athos and d'Artagnan had welcomed him back so easily and to have Porthos back would make him truly happy. He missed all the shenanigans they had got up to, all the grey hairs they had given Athos.

A loud crack brought Aramis out of his musings and he pulled his hand from his eyes and looked behind him. He knew he hadn't ventured far because he could still see the path he had turned off in the distance. Examining the woods near the path, he could not see any danger at all. His horse whinnied and started to step uneasily. He turned to face forward and was surprised by the vast amount of open space ahead of him, where no trees grew.

Before his brain could make sense of what he was seeing, he heard another crack and looked down. Oh. His horse was standing on ice; they were already near the middle of the river. His heart started to beat rapidly as he looked at the growing crack under his horse's hoofs. He looked back and estimated more or less where the bank was. They were too far away and too heavy. They weren't going to make it.

He needed to distribute their weight as much as he could, this he knew was their only chance. Very slowly, Aramis swung a leg back over his horse and climbed off. He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard another crack and looked down. The crack was spreading wickedly around them. His horse side-stepped again, obviously picking up on his master's distress.

"Shhhh," Aramis soothed it, "We're going to be fine. I'm going to get you out of here, just like you got me out of so many sticky situations, old friend."

His horse puffed out a cloud of white from its nose and relaxed slightly at the sound of his voice. Aramis stepped back slowly and guided his horse to follow him. It took an excruciatingly long time to get the animal to turn around and face the bank.

"Alright," Aramis said, "We're going to head back now."

He stepped a little further from his horse and slowly started to guide it forward. It took only three steps forward and the ice cracked again, more loudly this time, disturbing the peace of the quiet forest. Aramis looked down and swallowed hard. The cracks were starting to join. He thought he could call for help or simply wait. But he doubted his brothers would hear him and even if they did, Aramis knew time was not on his side. He had to get his horse off the ice, now.

He took a tentative step forward but it was a mistake. Suddenly the ice had started to crack more, the breaks spreading and branching out sharply and loudly, small chunks of ice shooting out here and there. Not knowing what else to do, Aramis decided that at least one of their lives could be saved. He tapped his horse hard and yelled at the animal to startle it. It worked; his horse sprang forward and ran all the way to the bank in a wild dash, leaving a path of cracking ice behind it. Aramis had only a moment to give a relieved breath before the ground disappeared beneath him.


	2. Chapter 2

It was cold. That was the only thought his mind would allow him as his body became completely submerged by icy water. The freezing water rushed into his ears and he could hear his own erratic heartbeat. It was eerily dark under the ice and as he looked up, he could see sunlight dancing through the hole he had made and tried to swim up towards it. The sun rays looked like angelic arms beckoning him to safety. The coldness had made his limbs stiff and it took all his remaining strength to make it to the hole. As his head came up he desperately gasped for air and tried to grab onto the ice around him. Some of it broke as he grabbed it and he ended up submerged a few more times. Eventually, he managed to grab an edge and hang onto it, lifting his arms as much as he could over the surface. It was a struggle.

His breathing was fast and uneven and he could not feel his legs though he was sure he was kicking them. He was shivering violently and he looked around for something else to grab onto but all he had was the ice that he was clinging to. He tried to call for help but his voice was not working, all that came out was a soft wheeze.

Past the point of panicking, Aramis held on with all his strength, which was growing weaker by the second. His breath came out fast and eventually, he stopped shivering. He rested his chin on the ice he was clinging to and stared at the road in the distance. Blinking slowly, his mind seemed to only focus on how hard his hands were shaking in front of him.

…

Porthos dealt out cards for himself and d'Artagnan. The younger man was terrible at cards; Porthos did not even need to cheat, though it was very entertaining. Besides, he needed to get his mind off Aramis. There was a small rift between them and Porthos missed him. He had missed him since he had walked down that damn road four years ago.

"What the?" d'Artagnan said and abruptly stood up, dropping his cards to the floor. Porthos turned to look behind him and saw Aramis' horse galloping up the road that their brother had gone down about twenty minutes ago. The beast looked agitated as it slowed down to a trot and came to the camp. Porthos held his arms up as it came near him but it whinnied and lifted its head, turning away. It was frightened.

"Something's wrong." Athos said, already mounting his horse. Porthos grabbed the reigns of Aramis' horse and tied them to a nearby tree just before mounting his own, all the while trying to ignore the fast thumping in his chest. Why had Aramis' horse returned without him?

As the three of them took off down the road, Porthos felt his worry increase greatly. Aramis had had a nightmare the night before which Porthos could only assume was triggered by their snowy surroundings. What if Aramis had had a panic attack while he was not there? Porthos' mind suddenly replayed those weeks after Savoy where he would find Aramis gasping for breath and huddled in a corner of his room in the middle of the night. What if Aramis had been attacked? What if he was hurt? Porthos pushed the thoughts aside and concentrated on calling his brother's name.

"Aramis!" He called as their horses galloped down the road.

To his right, Porthos could see the bank of a frozen river. Aramis must have surely found it when he left for it was quite near.

"There! A river!" Porthos pointed and the others saw the frozen river too. They turned their horses but had to pull the reigns tightly as they made it to the bank which was closer than it had appeared. Porthos dismounted and stepped forward, scanning the smooth white surface before him. When he looked to the far left of the river, he felt his heart drop from his chest.

"Aramis!" He said as he ran along the bank, not taking his eyes off his brother who was clutching onto the ice for life. He could hear the others shouting too but Aramis did not answer. Porthos immediately stepped forward onto the frozen water but felt a pair of hands pulling him back. He tried to shake them off but they were clutching onto him tightly.

"Porthos wait!" Athos shouted at him, "You can't go there you will break the ice even more and you will both drown!"

"I'm not going to stand here and not do anything!"

"We will get him out, just stay calm."

Not taking his eyes off Aramis, Porthos replied, "What the hell do you propose we do then?"

The hands fell from his shoulders and he heard Athos give d'Artagnan instructions.

"d'Artagnan," Athos said, "Go get rope from the camp, the longest you can find, and bring it here."

Porthos heard d'Artagnan's horse gallop away behind him. He stared at Aramis who he noticed was barely moving, clearly focusing all his energy on keeping his head above water. From their distance, Porthos could not see his face clearly enough to tell if he was even looking at them, if he even knew they were there.

"Porthos," He heard Athos say, not turning away from Aramis to look at him, "We're going to save him. I'm the lightest of the three of us; I will tie a rope to my waist and go to him. You and d'Artagnan will tie the rope to a horse and pull us out, alright?"

Porthos nodded slowly, still staring at his brother alone in the middle of a frozen river. For the first time in a very long time, Porthos felt completely immobilised by fear.

…

Before d'Artagnan had dismounted, Athos had grabbed the rope from him, giving him the same instructions he had given Porthos. He tied the rope tightly around his waist and once the other two had tied the rope to his horse, he began his slow crawl on the ice.

It was excruciating, but he knew he could not rush it. He dared not stand up and walk, in case of turning the situation worse and causing more ice to crack. Looking ahead, he was not entirely sure Aramis would be able to swim in his current state, so breaking the ice even more was not an option.

He focused on the quick little clouds of air coming from Aramis' nose, telling him there was still hope. As he got within earshot, he started to talk to his brother.

"Aramis," he said, "Everything is going to be alright. We're going to get you out and get you warm."

Aramis did not answer and as Athos got closer he realised with a jolt of panic his brother was not shivering. Hypothermia. Aramis did not even lift his eyes to look at Athos and if it weren't for the puffs of air and his slow blinking, Athos would have feared his brother dead.

Finally, Athos reached him. When he did he grabbed Aramis' upper arms and felt the chill of his body through his gloves.

"Aramis?" He asked, but got no response.

His brother's lips were blue and there were small frozen droplets of water on his eyelashes. Athos was beginning to worry they might lose him to the cold.

"No," He said determinedly to himself, "You listen to me you stubborn fool, you will not die today, I will not allow it. We didn't let the cold get you last time and we sure as hell won't let it get you this time. Aramis?"

Aramis blinked up at him and his brows furrowed slightly. A small groan escaped his lips and his eyelids fluttered.

Athos laid down on his belly and slid his arms under Aramis' own, gripping his back as tightly as he could.

"Alright!" He yelled, "Pull!"

The rope tugged and he started sliding backwards. He held even tighter onto his brother, whispering soft reassurances into his ear that everything was going to be alright.

Eventually, Aramis was completely out of the water and they were slowly pulled along the ice. Athos strained to look at his face and saw that his eyes were now closed. The ice cracked and groaned at the weight, but Athos kept his belly down, trying to even their weight out as much as possible. After what felt like an eternity, they were on the bank and hands were helping him up again.

…

As soon as his brothers were in reach, Porthos gave one last strong tug on the rope to help the horse pulling them and leaned down to take Aramis from Athos who had a death grip on him.

"It's alright," Porthos said, "I've got him."

Athos let go as d'Artagnan helped him to his feet. Porthos turned Aramis over and his worry increased tenfold when he saw that not only had Aramis closed his eyes but his lips were blue.

"Athos," He said, "He's not shivering."

"I know." Athos replied, "We need to get him back to the camp, _now_."

Porthos gently placed an arm behind Aramis' back and one underneath his legs to pick him up. With the help of d'Artagnan and Athos, he got him onto his horse. He mounted his horse behind him and wrapped and arm around him protectively, immediately setting his horse into a gallop.

Aramis was so cold that Porthos could feel the chill through his leathers. Aramis' head lolled on his shoulder as the horse moved, Porthos clung to him tightly. He could feel some tears escape his eyes but he wiped them away, Aramis needed him to be strong now.

When they made it back to the camp, Porthos carefully dismounted and Athos helped him lower Aramis from the horse. d'Artagnan immediately added more wood to the fire to make it bigger and Porthos gently laid Aramis down on a bedroll. Porthos focused on the puffs of air coming from Aramis' nose as they removed his soaking clothes. He felt like there was a tight fist around his heart at the worry he had for his unconscious brother. He couldn't lose Aramis. Porthos was certain that if Aramis were to die, he would go soon after from sorrow alone.

Once Aramis was undressed, they put some dry clothes on him. Porthos gently wipes the tiny bits of ice from Aramis' brows and eyelashes. Athos took his gloves off and put them on Aramis hands instead, rubbing them determinedly. Porthos took his bandana from his pocket and tied it around Aramis' neck as his scarf had also got soaked from the water. They covered Aramis in all the blankets they had and removed their coats to place on top of the blankets for good measure. d'Artagnan had a big fire going and started to make some hot stew for when Aramis woke. He also laid Aramis' wet clothes in front of the fire to dry them. Porthos and Athos both climbed under the blankets on either side of Aramis to lend their body heat. The familiarity of lying beside Aramis told Porthos that they would get him through this, just like they did before, every time Aramis seemed to catch a chill.

Eventually, after about an hour of only worry, Aramis' complexion started to take on a more natural tone. Porthos turned his brother over so that his back was to Athos and wrapped his arms around him, holding on tightly. Athos wrapped his arms around Aramis in turn and they stayed like that for a while, the smell of d'Artagnan's stew filling the air.

Every now and then, Aramis would try to weakly wriggle out of their grasp and mumble nonsense to no one in particular. Porthos and Athos would constantly soothe him back to sleep as they warmed him up. On some occasions, he would try to push Porthos away or pull off his shirt. It took only a tenth of Porthos' strength to stop him. It was not a pleasant ordeal, especially since Aramis' eyes were shut the entire time.

"Will he be alright?" Came d'Artagnan's anxious voice from his spot by the fire.

"He'll be fine," Porthos replied, "He's stronger than he looks, always has been."

Porthos pulled Aramis closer in his arms and buried his face in his hair.

…

When Aramis blinked his eyes open he could hear the sound of Athos and d'Artagnan talking, but couldn't quite make out what they were saying as he still felt very drowsy. His head was throbbing a little and he could tell at the very least that it was night time as he could hear the sound of an owl. He swallowed and grimaced at the raw feeling in his throat.

The memories of the frozen river drifted back in his mind but he couldn't understand why he felt warm when the last thing he remembered feeling was very cold. Someone was holding him; he could feel a hand rubbing up and down his back. His head was pushed against someone's chest and they had their arms around him. There was also warmth behind him… another person who had their arms around his belly. _How strange_ , he thought. It was pleasant though and he closed his eyes at the warmth around him. He swallowed again and his throat burned. Realising the river water had probably made him sick, he groaned loudly.

The talking he could hear stopped abruptly, as did the hand rubbing his back.

"Aramis?" He felt the person's chest in front of him vibrate from their voice.

Very slowly, Aramis moved his head up and opened his eyes to get his bearings.

It was Porthos who was holding him. He turned over a little and saw that it was Athos behind him. Porthos released his grip on him as Aramis shifted onto his back and Porthos propped himself on an elbow.

"You with us?" Porthos asked him, looking down at him worriedly and keeping a hand on his chest.

Aramis blinked up at him, straining his brain to try and remember what had happened after he fell in the ice.

"You found me?" Aramis asked softly.

Porthos' face looked grim, "Yes, and we were almost too late."

"I don't remember you finding me."

"You were suffering from hypothermia when we did; I doubt you will remember much."

Aramis looked at both his brothers and realised they were lying beside him to keep him warm.

"Thank you." He said.

Porthos smiled down at him, "No need to thank us, brother. Just don't go doing something like that again."

Aramis was momentarily taken aback by the easy way Porthos smiled at him; unstrained and open, just like it used to be. Both his brothers looked worried and stressed. Clearly it had been bad. Aramis tried to lighten the mood.

"Athos?" Aramis asked, ignoring his sore throat.

"Hmm?" Athos replied.

"I found the river."

Both Porthos and Athos looked at him with neutral expressions. Aramis heard d'Artagnan give a chuckle.

"That's not funny." Athos said although there was a small hint of a smile playing at both their lips.

Aramis tilted his head to smile at d'Artagnan.

"Thank you d'Artagnan," He said, "You are the only one who appreciates my humour."

"Do you think you can manage some stew?" Porthos asked him, "It will warm you up."

Aramis smiled, "I think you two have done a wonderful job at that already, but yes, broth sounds wonderful."

It was wonderful; Athos and Porthos had helped him into a sitting position and wrapped the blankets tightly around his shoulders. Neither of them left his side while he ate. d'Artagnan was a wonderful cook and Aramis told him as much.

"Do you remember what happened?" Porthos eventually asked, "Do you remember how you ended up in the ice?"

Aramis felt himself blush slightly, "I was feeling tired and I wasn't paying attention to where my horse was going. I think I stopped guiding it so it started to wander on its own. I heard the ice crack and managed to climb off and got my horse to run off the ice. But before I could do the same, it gave. How did you get me out?"

"I tied a rope around my waist," Athos explained, "And climbed on the ice to get to you, then d'Artagnan and Porthos pulled us out with the help of one of the horses, which we tied the other end of the rope to."

Aramis suddenly felt very ashamed and looked down at his empty bowl.

"I'm sorry, Athos." He said, "If I had just been paying attention, none of this would have happened. You could have been killed because of me."

"Hush," Athos said as he grabbed the back of Aramis' neck and gave a gentle squeeze, "It was a mistake anyone could have made. I'm just glad you are safe now."

Aramis leaned into the touch of Athos' warm hand and the older musketeer smiled and kept it there, rubbing up and down gently.

"Thank you for doing that for me," Aramis whispered, "For saving me."

"You needn't say thank you, Aramis." Athos replied, "I would do it a thousand times over if I had to, you must know that?"

Aramis nodded and rubbed a hand over his face. He had known that once, but was not sure his life was so valuable to them anymore. His headache was still throbbing behind his skull and he closed his eyes.

"Why were you tired?" Porthos eventually asked, "Did you not sleep last night?"

Aramis looked at him, not quite knowing what to say. Athos stood up suddenly and looked pointedly at d'Artagnan.

"d'Artagnan," He said, "Let us go get more firewood before we run out."

Aramis saw d'Artagnan glance at the obviously large pile they already had and nodded slowly, getting up and leaving with Athos.

Aramis swallowed, he and Porthos had not been alone with each other for a while.

"You didn't sleep after your nightmare, did you?" Porthos eventually asked, getting straight to the point as usual.

Aramis cleared his throat and shook his head, "No, I… I couldn't."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" Porthos asked, "You always woke me when…"

Aramis looked at him, "I didn't know I could, Porthos. After everything… things didn't feel the same between us."

Porthos flinched, "I know. I just got angry when you said you were alright and you clearly weren't. You never used to do that with me. You were always honest with me, about everything."

"But Porthos, after what you said at the monastery… and then seeing the way you and d'Artagnan have grown close hurt a little because I felt like I had lost you. And then there's the fact that you came from war. And I know what war is like. I know you must have your own memories… your own nightmares to deal with. I just felt like I would burden you even more."

The words tumbled out and Aramis found he couldn't stop them until they were all done.

"I thought," Aramis continued, "I thought you didn't want to be my brother anymore."

When Aramis got the courage to look up, Porthos was looking at him with a heartbroken expression and a tear running down his cheek which Aramis quickly thumbed away.

"Aramis…" Porthos said and gripped Aramis' hand before he could drop it back down, "First of all, what I said at the monastery… I didn't mean it. Not a word. I regretted it as soon as it came out and I saw how much it hurt you. I thought of you every day in those four years and that's the truth. It was only thing keeping me going; knowing that you were safer than I was, that you were out of harm's way. I only said that because I was worried I had to say goodbye again."

"That's exactly what Athos said," Aramis replied, enjoying the warmth of Porthos' hand through the leather glove he was wearing.

"Athos is too damn smart for his own good," Porthos said with a small smile, "And yeah, d'Artagnan and I have grown closer but he will never know me like you do, Aramis. No one will. We are good friends, him and I, that much is true, but he is your friend too."

"It's alright, Porthos." Aramis said, shaking his head, "I'm not asking you to apologise for being close to d'Artagnan at all, he's our brother. I just felt… replaced."

Porthos flinched again and looked even sadder, "No one could ever replace you, _mon ami_. No one."

Porthos took the bowl out of Aramis' hand to set it aside and wrapped his arms around him. He held him tightly and eventually pulled away, taking Aramis' still cold face into his hands.

"Aramis," He said, "You will never lose me. I will always be your brother in all but blood, just as you will always be mine. And as far as your nightmares go, please do not ever keep them secret because you think we don't have time to listen. There is always time. And yes, we saw horrible things during the war, and yes they creep into my dreams sometimes. But Aramis, surely you must know how very different Savoy was? You had no warning, it's not the same."

"I know," Aramis admitted, "But I just felt you had bigger problems now."

Porthos shook his head, rubbing his thumbs back and forth on Aramis' cheek, "That is nonsense, Aramis. There is nothing and no one that I would ever put before you."

Aramis closed his eyes and smiled, "You know I would do anything for you, all of you?"

"Of course I do you idiot," Porthos said and pulled him in for a tight hug, "I'm very sorry, Aramis, that my words caused such pain. I would never hurt you intentionally."

"I know," Aramis replied.

Porthos was so warm and familiar that his embrace was a remedy to Aramis' headache. He nuzzled closer into Porthos' arms but pulled away when he heard footsteps.

"Apologies, gentlemen," Athos said as he and d'Artagnan walked back into the camp, "But we were getting cold."

"No need to apologise," Aramis smiled at them.

"I assume everything is back as it should be?" Athos asked, looking at both their faces.

"Of course," Porthos said as he started to rub circles on Aramis' back.

They all sat in front of the fire in silence, Aramis still wrapped tightly in about twenty blankets. He looked down with a jolt of realisation.

"Porthos," He said, "I'm wearing your bandana, and Athos, your gloves! Would you like them back?"

"No," Porthos said, "Keep it on until I'm satisfied you're warm enough again."

Athos looked at him with a deadly serious expression, "If you take my gloves off I will make you eat them."

…

Aramis' eyes eventually began to droop, which obviously didn't go unnoticed by Athos or Porthos.

"Time for you to get more rest," Athos said.

They covered Aramis up again when he laid down on his bedroll. He had to argue with them that they should all divide the blankets evenly. They were insistent that he use them all and that he should allow them to take care of him but Aramis had won the argument by stating that his brother's couldn't take care of him if they became hypothermic themselves.

Porthos was having none of it though as he settled beside Aramis on his bedroll and the two of them shared their blankets, with Porthos wrapping his arms around him just as he had done that afternoon. Aramis sighed, feeling truly relaxed for the first time since he had been reunited with his brothers. He had been worried, that he and Porthos would never be the same again, but somehow after everything, they had grown closer than they ever were before.

"Aramis, stop." Came Athos' voice.

"Stop what?" Was Aramis' muffled reply. He didn't even bother to remove his face from Porthos' chest.

"I can hear your brain overworking from here. Go to sleep."

Porthos pulled him even closer, "I agree," he mumbled sleepily into Aramis' hair, "I can smell your brain burning."


	3. Chapter 3

Porthos woke up to the sound of someone marching about their campsite. They were making far too much noise for so early in the morning, in his opinion. He blinked one eye open and, just as he had expected, saw that it was Athos who was busying himself with picking up their things.

Before Porthos could make some cheeky comment about rising too early, the brother in his arms gave a small sniff. Porthos held him tighter and continued to eye Athos wearily.

"What in hell's name are you up to?" Porthos eventually asked.

Athos whipped around and narrowed his eyes at him, "What does it look like? I'm packing up, we need to leave soon. Is he alright?"

Porthos tried to move away from Aramis a little to look at his face but the younger musketeer only clung on to him tightly and groaned in protest.

Porthos smiled, "Seems to be back to his usual self."

Athos continued to move around the site but eventually stopped to look at Porthos.

"Is he asleep?" He asked.

Porthos ran a hand up and down Aramis' back, "Aramis? Are you awake? Your horse is eating your hat."

When Aramis did not even stir in the slightest, Porthos smirked and looked up to Athos, "He's fast asleep."

"Good," Athos said, "He probably needs it."

"Hmm," Porthos mumbled in agreement.

"Porthos?" Athos asked as he dusted off his coat before putting it on, "Are you two alright? You did speak last night, I know. I just want to know if I need to continue worrying."

"We're fine," Porthos replied confidently, "It seems we both just got lost in some… miscommunication."

"As I thought," Athos said, picking up some bowls they had used the night before, "It's just… I don't like it when you two fight and this time things seemed strange… more final. It would be the worst thing in the world if you two did not remain the best of friends. I fear if there is no hope for you two then there is no hope for any of us. The relationship between the four of us depends greatly on the relationship between you and Aramis."

Porthos sighed, "I hurt him, Athos. And worse I made him believe he had to hide his pain from me. It won't happen again."

Athos smiled, "Good. Now get up and help me."

"Is that an order?"

"It can be."

…

Porthos and Athos quietly cleaned up the camp, leaving the other two still sleeping deeply beside the fire. Porthos had tucked the blankets around Aramis as tightly as he could before moving away.

"There is still some of d'Artagnan's stew left over, I will heat it up and we can wake them for breakfast." Athos said, moving over to the fire.

Porthos smirked, "What fine parents we make, Athos."

He raised his arms immediately in defence at the cold glare Athos threw him over his shoulder.

The other two didn't need waking up. d'Artagnan woke up first, declaring that the smell of the stew made him hungry. He sat beside his two brothers by the fire, waiting for it to warm up. When Aramis had begun to stir under his blankets, Porthos felt guilty for leaving his side. Aramis sat up and rubbed a hand through his messy hair, blinking at them sleepily.

"Sleep well?" Athos asked.

Aramis nodded and got up with a smile, sitting next to Porthos.

"No bad dreams?" Porthos asked him quietly while Athos and d'Artagnan spoke beside them.

"None," Aramis replied, trying to flatten the mop on his head, "Although I did have one strange dream. I dreamt my horse ate my hat."

Porthos chuckled softly, "Strange but not unlikely. I assure you, your hat is fine."

Aramis nudged closer to him and Porthos automatically placed an arm around his shoulders. He had missed this easy contact between them. They would surely fight again at one point, like brothers often do, but Porthos knew with confidence they would never come so close to growing apart again.

Eventually the stew was warm and everyone ate in a comfortable silence. Aramis cleared his throat beside Porthos and then begun to cough.

"Aramis?" Porthos asked, gently placing a hand on Aramis' back.

"I'm alright," Aramis said, smiling.

His smile dropped however when he saw the look on Porthos' face. Porthos removed a glove from his right hand and placed it on Aramis' forehead, frowning.

"You're getting sick." He said like he knew exactly when something was not right with Aramis. And after four years, he still did.

He watched Aramis grimace and shake his head.

"Don't even deny it." Came Athos' voice from next to Porthos, "Your eyes are red, it's obvious."

Aramis sighed dramatically, "It's probably from the icy water, I'll be fine."

Porthos narrowed his eyes at him, "Well, we're heading back to the garrison today so you can get to bed as soon as we're back, no arguments."

Porthos smiled when Aramis held up his arms in defeat. He kept an eye on him while they were all clearing up the rest of the camp. Aramis had put on his now dry clothes and gave Porthos his bandanna back, and Athos his gloves.

"Alright, let's ready the horses then." Athos said, looking over at Aramis.

Porthos noticed that Athos had also been keeping an eye on their brother. He was starting to look pale and his coughing was increasing. The sooner they got back to the garrison the better.

Porthos and Aramis' horses were tied to the same tree. Aramis coughed all the while he was saddling his horse and eventually Porthos took over so that he could catch his breath.

"Are you alright?" He asked; worry starting to creep into his voice. Aramis had hunched over to cough and waved a hand in reply.

Porthos watched him intently. They had been foolish to not assume the water would make him sick. He had, after all, been in it for a while. He watched as Aramis straighten to look at him. His face was snow white and he suddenly grabbed the saddle of his horse, tilting back slightly.

"Aramis?" Porthos said, moving forward.

Porthos was not considered the fastest moving musketeer of his brothers but he certainly was not slow. He managed to grab Aramis before he hit the ground, landing on his knees to stop his brother from falling all the way. With an arm around Aramis' waist and one behind his head, he called for help.

"Athos!"

Athos was there in an instant and moved Aramis' horse away when he realised what must have happened.

"d'Artagnan!" Athos called, "grab Aramis' horse."

Athos kneeled down and gently placed a palm on Aramis' head, pulling it away quickly.

"What?" Porthos asked, still clinging onto his unconscious brother, his heart thumping like a frightened hare.

"He's warm," Athos said, "very warm."

"What happened?" d'Artagnan asked, grabbing the reigns from Aramis' horse, his voice filled with worry.

"He has a fever." Athos said, looking up at him. Tie his horse to yours; you will have to guide it. We need to get to the garrison now. Porthos, try to get him to wake up."

Porthos slowly lowered Aramis to the ground, "Aramis?"

He gently moved the hair out of Aramis' face as he called to him, not removing the hand from the back of his head.

"Aramis?" He tried again and again, "come on, wake up please, there's only so much my heart can take in the space of two days. I'm not as young as I used to be brother. Come on; wake up so you can tease me about what an old man I've become. Please, brother."

Aramis' eyes opened slowly and he looked up at his brothers. Porthos watched as he slowly looked around him.

"Why am I on the ground?" Aramis asked softly, coughing again.

Athos and Porthos lifted him into a sitting position, both holding onto him tightly.

"You fainted," Athos said bluntly.

Aramis cringed, "I did what?"

"Fainted," Athos repeated, "Now on your feet, we need to get you to the garrison."

They lifted Aramis to his feet and Porthos wrapped an arm around his waist one more.

"I don't faint." Aramis mumbled, "I never faint."

For all his worry, Porthos managed a small smile, "What would you call suddenly dropping to the floor then?"

"My legs… grew weak." Aramis declared, tilting towards Porthos who tightened his grip.

"Well, let's get you onto a horse before they grow weak again." Athos said.

"He's doing it again, Porthos." Aramis said, looking scandalised but allowing them to lead him to Porthos' horse.

"Who's doing what, Aramis?" Porthos asked, quite sure that Aramis' thinking was being affected by his fever.

Aramis mumbled something neither of his brothers could decipher and, with d'Artagnan's help, they got him seated onto the horse; the scene far too familiar to the one from the day before, according to Porthos.

Porthos climbed on behind him and pulled him close to lean against him. The other two brothers mounted their horses and made their way back onto the path. Aramis managed to fall asleep a few times but was constantly awoken by his own coughing and sniffing. When he was awake he did not seem to always remember what was happening and seemed to come to with a jolt almost every time. Porthos would lift a hand to pat his hair or massage his shoulder and Aramis would settle again.

They stopped a few times to give Aramis some water, Athos was adamant about keeping him hydrated. On one such occasion, Porthos vented his frustration a little.

"I don't understand," Porthos said to no one in particular, sighing loudly.

"Understand what, my friend?" Athos replied, while helping Aramis drink.

Porthos tightened his arm around his brother while he contemplated his answer.

"I don't understand how such cold can lead to such heat. I mean I understand but it's just frustrating. We warmed him up but now he has a fever. I feel useless."

When Athos was done he placed a hand on Porthos' arm and squeezed.

"Porthos," Athos said gently, "He will be fine, we will get him to bed and make him some tea to soothe his cough, just like he has done for us a thousand times before. We will take care of him."

Porthos nodded slowly and they continued to move.

"Would you like me to ride ahead?" Came d'Artagnan's voice from behind them, "I could take mine and Aramis' horses to the stable and send for a physician?"

Porthos turned to smile at him and saw his own worry etched on his young face.

"No need, lad." Porthos said, "Athos is right, he will be fine. We will take care of him. He probably wouldn't have it any other way. You know what he's like when it comes to physicians."

A small smile made its way to d'Artagnan's features, "Yes, I recall the last time we tried to make him see one."

They rode on in silence, save for Aramis' coughing. Luckily, his cough did not yet sound too severe, a fact that Porthos was clutching onto for hope.

…

There was something wet and cold on Aramis' forehead. For a moment, it was all he could focus on, until the rest of his senses woke up. Someone was dabbing his neck with another wet thing. He could hear voices and eventually discerned that they belonged to his brothers. Warily, he opened his eyes.

Porthos was smiling down at him, dabbing a cloth on his neck and cheeks, "Aramis!"

Suddenly, Aramis was being lifted into an embrace so tight it caused his coughing to start up.

"Sorry, sorry." Porthos mumbled and lowered Aramis back down with a very guilty look on his face.

"It's alright," Aramis said smiling, once his coughing had calmed. He pushed himself up to be seated and the cloth fell off his forehead. A hand rested on his cheek and Aramis realised Athos was sitting opposite Porthos on the bed.

"Your fever has lowered, finally." He said, looking relieved.

"You should drink some tea; it will help your throat." Came d'Artagnan's voice from next to the bed.

Aramis smiled at him and accepted the cup gratefully. The sweet warmth filled him up and he sighed happily.

"How do you feel?" Porthos asked after taking the empty cup from Aramis' hands.

"Alright," Aramis said, "better than when I… when my legs grew weak."

Athos rolled his eyes but smirked all the same, "You really worried us, my brother."

"Sorry," Aramis said, sniffing a little.

"Don't apologise," Porthos said, "just don't do that again, I don't think my heart will be able to handle it."

Aramis patted his arm gently. His head was a little sore still and his throat still felt a bit raw but otherwise he really did feel better.

"I don't remember much after I was trying to saddle my horse."

Porthos nodded, his forehead still creased in worry but a slight smile on his lips, "You said a lot of strange things in your fevered state."

"I did?" Aramis asked nervously, "Like what?"

Porthos shrugged, "You declared how much you missed Treville… how much you wished you could gaze upon his beautiful face once more."

Aramis threw the wet cloth that had fallen from his forehead at Porthos' face.

"I did no such thing!"

Porthos and d'Artagnan laughed loudly and Porthos took the cloth from where it had fallen on his shoulder and tossed it aside.

"You did throw accusations at me though," Athos said, one of his brows raised and a small smile making its way onto his face.

"Accusations?" Aramis asked, confused.

"Yes," Athos said, folding his arms but not looking the slightest bit angry, "Every time I asked you to drink water you told Porthos I was 'doing it again' though I have no idea what 'it' was."

Aramis tried to make sense of the haze of memory he had before waking up in bed and eventually something clicked and he tried very hard not to smile.

"How exactly did you ask me to drink the water?" He asked.

Athos tilted his head, clearly confused, "I said, 'Aramis, drink.' I believe my instructions were quite clear."

Aramis nodded in understanding and looked at Athos, "You were using your captain's voice again."

Athos' back straightened and he raised an eyebrow again. Porthos looked between the two and suddenly both he and d'Artagnan looked as if they were about to burst from holding in their laughter.

"I do not have a captain's voice." Athos stated defiantly.

The other two couldn't hold it in anymore and both started laughing hysterically.

"Y-yes," d'Artagnan said between his giggles, "yes you do."

Athos huffed, "Fine, but Aramis I'll have you know you have a medic's voice which you used long before I was captain."

"A medic's voice?" Aramis asked, leaning back on the pillows, "I doubt such a thing exists."

"It does," Porthos said, wiping his eyes, "Athos is right. He has a captain's voice and you have a medic's voice and if I'm honest they're one in the same."

Aramis frowned in doubt.

"Your stubbornness and authority when you are taking care of one of us has made us force down the vilest medicine." Athos explained, yet his face remained relaxed and he spoke the words with such fondness Aramis wondered what he had done to gain such wonderful brothers.

"It's our turn now though," Porthos said, pulling a blanket over Aramis, up to his chin, "We're going to take care of you."

Aramis smiled and allowed them to do just that. He felt wonderful, having them back, having things between them not the same as before, but much better. They stayed with him the whole day and night. Athos was poking the fire in Aramis' fireplace and d'Artagnan was busying himself with one of Aramis' poetry books. Porthos and Aramis were chatting softly by the bed and Aramis was so glad to have Porthos back that he felt exhausted from the relief and all that had transpired in the last two days.

…

Athos turned from the fire and watched his brothers. He smiled at how d'Artagnan's brows were knitted together in concentration as he was reading. He looked over to the bed and sighed happily. Porthos was tucking a sleeping Aramis in his bed. He was so glad to see Aramis and Porthos as they were meant to be. Brothers. Always watching out for each other and always plotting something that would surely give Athos grey hairs.

He smiled as he watched them; it was like four years apart had not happened at all.


End file.
